


Worst. Wingman. EVER.

by orphan_account



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: 31 Days of Smut Challenge, 3xR, Amazon Prime with bad judgment, Best Worst Date Ever, Blind Date, Double Crossing Duo, Fluff, Mistaken Identity, Multi, Relena on the Rebound, Text Messages, Trowa Barton is a CInnamon Roll, Tumblr Prompt, Two-Shot, bear with me, everyone is ooc, former 1xR, the author is a horrible person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quatre’s last attempt at a fix-up hadn't quite panned out, Relena mused to herself as she worked on her eyeliner. Let’s hope this “Duo” character wasn't a complete disaster.</p>
<p>It was only one little date. What was the worst that could happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Global Warming, Cursive, and Vodka

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).



> Taken from a Tumblr prompt from Claraxbarton. 3xR blind date for the “31 Days of Smut” challenge.
> 
> I never said I was sane…

Relena startled from her task of mashing her foil-wrapped lock of hair between the plates of the flat iron, nearly singeing her forehead at the sharp, loud knock on her door. “Shit… Just a minute,” she nagged as she fought with the decision to pull on her robe first or to find a non-scorch surface to set down the iron first. Relena jerked the plug from the wall, hoping it wasn't her neighbor from across the hall with the cats who always managed to talk her ear off. Just her luck if she burned her apartment down because she couldn't politely excuse herself in time. She knocked the bar of soap into the sink in her shuffle, then decided that was a good enough iron rest-

Her guest didn't get the memo that “Just a minute” didn't mean “Knock louder.”

“Seriously?” Relena jerked her short black Victoria’s Secret robe around herself and clutched it shut before darting out to answer the door. “Hold your horses!” She risked a glance through the peep hole and her shoulders sagged in a mix of relief and disgust. “I’m not even decent,” she muttered aloud as she undid the locks.

“How’s that any different from usual?” he quipped as he stepped past her into her apartment. “Can I take a picture of you like this to show Duo?”

“NO!” Relena brandished her hand to swat him when he held up his phone, and Quatre chuckled when she attempted to wrestle it out of his grasp.

“Kidding! KIDDING! I swear… Sheesh. But, are you going to be ready soon?” His tone was hopeful. “Nice hair.” He lifted up one of her foiled coils and waggled his brows. 

“You wish you could rock this,” she countered, preening.

“I do,” he admitted.

“Make yourself useful in the meantime. Help me pick out my shoes.”

“Which in Relena-speak means ‘I’ll be ready in another three hours.’”

“No, it really means ‘Help me with my shoes.’ I just bought new ones.”

“Fair enough.” Quatre followed her through the apartment from the tidy living room to the bathroom, which at the moment was a train wreck. The counters were strewn with makeup compacts and bottles, Bobby pins, combs, her gaping jewelry box with several chains dangling over the side, and the now-depleted roll of Reynold’s Wrap foil. Relena shoved the small maple-finished jewelry box into his hands. 

“Untangle those, please. You have nimble fingers.”

Quatre’s sigh was long-suffering as he took it from her and followed her to the bedroom.

 

"Tell me again why we're friends?" he accused as he began sorting through the tangled morass of shining links, strands and clasps.

“Because you love me,” Quatre sat on the unmade queen-sized bed, looking incongruous amongst the brocade throw pillows and mauve linens. He was a regular fixture in Relena's room, the boundaries between them paper-thin throughout their friendship spanning all the way back to kindergarten, when Relena clobbered Alex Mueller with her Hello Kitty lunchbox for shoving Quatre's face into the rung of the slide ladder when he was taking too long making up his mind whether or not to go up it. Both boys ended up in the nurse's office, Relena ended up in the principal's office with a pink citation slip sent home, but she earned herself a bashful friend who made a point of making room for her in the lunchline and in the gym bleachers, always picking her first for four-square.

"S'probably just as well that you're running late," Quatre mentioned casually as he tried to free a silver pendant from a pink tennis bracelet. "Duo's not always prompt."

Relena made a face. "Really?" She dug around in the bottom of her closet, rummaging through the neat rows of shoes and extracting three different pairs. She set them out in front of the dresser. Quatre hummed thoughtfully at her choices.

"Eh. Not...bad, I guess. What are you wearing, again?" Relena grinned and went back into the closet, pulling out the safe little cap-sleeved, belted black dress with the brown leather belt. Her smile promptly evaporated when Quatre made cutting motions across his throat. "Ugh. No. God, no. That won't work."

"What? It's a perfect first date dress!"

"No. That's a 'let's do this again sometime even though I have no intention of calling you ever again' dress if I ever saw one. Don't do it."

"But-"

"Just don't."

Relena threw her hands up in the air, dropping the dress on the floor, hanger and all in the process. "So, what, then? I had it all planned out!"

"Plans change." Quatre set aside the necklaces and tugged himself up from the cushy mattress, sighing like the parent of a two-year-old. He casually tugged Relena away from the closet and began to sort through her hangers, sliding them across the rack one by one. "Hnnnn... Girly. Girly. Frilly. Ew... Paisley. What were you thinking, Lena? Nineteen-ninety-two called, it wants its printed jeans back-"

"Shut up, you."

"No. No. Not bad, but no. Eh. Eh. Not...quite. Do you have an alligator belt to go with this one?"

"No. Alligator's tacky."

"Not if you know how to work it, kiddo."

"I'm not down with wearing reptiles." Quatre muttered something about her needing to be more willing to take fashion risks, and had he taught her nothing? before he went back to his search for the perfect blind date outfit.

"We need something to make his eyes pop out of his head. Something memorable and fun- HEY. What. Is. THIS?" he accused as he wrested a lonely looking garment bag out of the back of the closet and unzipped it, peeking between the folds. Relena glanced up from the first pair of shoes that she was in the middle of returning to their row, the one selection that she was at least seventy percent - maybe even seventy-four percent - certain would have gone perfectly with the black dress. Her blue eyes widened in horror while Quatre's danced back at her.

"No," she pronounced. "Not that one. Not happening. Put it back."

"What??"

"Put. It. Back."

"But, it's perfect!"

"NO, Quatre. En. Oh. No."

"No. No, no, we're not playing it safe. Not with that rag, there," he said, nodding to the dress on the floor as he lifted the garment from the bag, whistling at it for emphasis, "when you have this beauty begging to go out to dinner."

"And dancing," she corrected him.

"Even better."

"NO! Not 'better!' I'm not giving him the wrong impression."

"What if it's the _right_ impression?" Quatre was already removing the tags. "You're never worn this?"

"I never had the nerve. Lu talked me into it, back when I was having that Bad Week."

"Ahhhh."

*

Because of _course_ she went impulse shopping when she was heartbroken.

It started off innocently enough. Heero’s final text that it was over still lived in her phone’s saved messages, and she spent the first five days skipping class, calling in sick to work at the library, and languishing on the couch with the Real Housewives, Hoarders, and My 600-Lb Life. On Saturday, Lucrezia showed up at her door with a plastic Safeway bag loaded with Ben and Jerry's pints, Oreos, Dove chocolates and frozen pizzas while Relena clutched her box of Kleenex, allowing her to enter and promptly crying all over her shirt. Heero's stuff was already packed neatly into a box in the corner. The framed photo of the two of them was conspicuously modified; Heero was now missing his head in it.

They chatted - or Relena vented, while Lu nodded and made sounds of agreement - and gorged on Cherry Garcia while the pizzas baked and they binge-watched a marathon of _Lost Girl_. Lu elbowed Relena and pointed to the screen.

"You could _totally_ rock that. Look what Kenzi has on. I love that. She's built a little like you."

"No, she's not," Relena argued.

"She is. She totally is. You guys have the same coloring, too." Lu sighed. "I love her wardrobe."

"Eh." It wasn't Relena's taste, but she had to admit, Kenzi was cute. She was one of her favorite characters for her sass alone. Relena felt undesirable and unwanted. She dove after the last chunks of cherry in the bottom of the tub with her spoon. Lu reassured her periodically that it wasn't her fault. Relena thought about her argument with Heero during every commercial. She didn't feel much better, but Lu's presence grounded her.

Another search through the Safeway bags yielded a bottle of flavored vodka. One little shot quickly became five, Relena woke up with a hangover to empty ice cream tubs and pizza boxes all over her counter, and learned firsthand the lesson "Don't drink and Prime" when the first few boxes arrived on her doorstep. She cringed uncertainly when she slit open the first one with a serrated kitchen knife; she graduated to groans, then shrieks of dismay by the time she reached the last one.

"Oh, God." What had she done? Relena called Lu, who promptly growled at her to lower her voice as Relena shrieked some more.

"They aren't just bad clothes, Lu! These are a bad episode of Springer bad!" Relena continued to paw through her purchases, and she gaped in disgusted terror when she picked up a skirt that appeared to be made of Naugahyde. She dropped it as if it burned her.

"Now you're just being dramatic."

"This is _Wrestlemania_ bad!" Studs. Pleather. Lace gloves and stockings, fishnets, platform heels with gladiator straps… _All this after five shots of vodka?_

Relena wanted to reach into the phone and slap Lu when she had the temerity to giggle. "I need to come by. It can't be _that_ bad." Minutes later, Lu was _crowing_ over the piles of very _un_ -Relena clothes spread across her sofa. The living room was littered with Amazon boxes yawning open wide, spilling out bubble wrap and plastic air pouches and packing slips. Relena's credit card number winked up from every one. "Fashion show time," Lu demanded.

"What?!?"

"Try them on!"

"You're demented. NO way. These are all going back!"

"Uh, NO. These are _fabulous._ " Lucrezia and Relena argued over an indulgent breakfast and all the way over the short drive they made to Heero's apartment, where Relena didn't even bother to knock when she dropped off his box of stuff outside his apartment door. Relena hissed at Lu to be quiet when she inquired, "What if someone takes it?" as they retreated, but Relena was done. Her closure depended on it.

Lu eventually left after Relena refused to indulge her with a fashion show. She'd brandished her smartphone jokingly before Relena shoved her out the door.

Relena’s Bad Week wound down to a close. She stuffed the hastily taped boxes into the trunk of her tiny Focus and floored it all the way to the UPS Store. The clerk smirked at her return slips, but that wasn't judgment Relena saw in her eyes.

*

“All right. Chop-chop. Get in the dress.”

“No, Q.”

“Relena. You _need_ this. The days of being ‘safe, boring little Relena’ are over.”

“Boring?” Her voice rang with disbelief.

“I love you, baby doll, but listening to you talk about dating Heero was about as exciting as watching paint dry.”

Her mouth gaped, then snapped shut. “We- we were NOT boring!”

“No. Listen to what I’m saying. You two had no chemistry.”

“Yes, we did!” she shot back.

“You were like American cheese on Wonder bread with mayo.”

“Oh, God. I was… _cheese?_ ”

“Processed. Unexciting. Flavorless…”

“Cheese,” they finished together.

“He wasn't a good fit. Heero isn't the easiest fit with anyone, kiddo. It’s just, I hate seeing you try to rein yourself in. Heero is too… He’s just too _Heero._ You were losing your spark.”

“I still have spark,” she muttered. “And that doesn't mean you’re getting me to wear that disgusting thing. I kept it as a joke. Figured I’d wear it to a costume party.”

“That’s fine. Pretend you’re someone else for a change. Be the girl who dances til 3AM. Be the girl who eats dessert first.”

“That’s cliché.”

“That’s more fun than sitting across from the girl ordering the nicoise salad and blathering about global warming and how tragic it is that no one writes in cursive anymore.” That chafed. She’d toyed with her salade nicoise, almost too nervous to eat it for the better part of her first dinner with Heero, hoping she didn't stammer her way out of a second date. In hindsight, maybe she mistook his boredom for politeness and nonchalance. It irked her.

She snatched the dress from Quatre. “Give me that.”

*

Quatre’s last attempt at a fix-up hadn't quite panned out, Relena mused to herself as she worked on her eyeliner. Let’s hope this “Duo” character wasn't a complete disaster.

It was only one little date. What was the worst that could happen?

Q helped her with her jewelry, freeing a beautiful Swarovski butterfly pendant from the rest of the pile and fastening the tiny lobster clasp behind her neck when she held up her hair. Quatre sat on the edge of the sink as she put her face on, giving her choice of lip color a shake of his blond head until she put down the metallic pink and selected the deep matte plum instead. She set it aside while she sponged on concealer and foundation as she tried to tamp down her jitters. Quatre helped her with her hair, discarding the tin foil once she finished flat ironing each coil, and she unwound each long, gleaming spiral curl and began to tease and fluff it with a rat-tail comb. Quatre coughed as she sprayed a cloud of Aqua Net around her mass of waves in hissing bursts.

“Jesus,” he croaked as he fanned the air. “Easy, killer.”

“Go big or go home,” she told him. She turned to him after she finished applying a coat of plum to her lips. “What’s the verdict?”

“Hmm. Eh.” He stood and considered her hair for a moment, pulling the loose waves over her shoulder. “Not bad. Now shoes.”

Months of wearing flat shoes while she dated Heero –she had a complex about not wanting to tower over him in heels - hadn't made her forget how to walk in her Jimmy Choos. Muscle memory kicked in by the time she made it to the front door with her purse. She showed Quatre out, watching him key in his pass lock on his smartphone screen. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just messing with Duo. Telling him how hot you look.”

Relena smirked. “Send him a picture.” She struck a pose, but Quatre ignored it.

“Uh-uh. That defeats the purpose of a blind date. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” she mimicked. “You’re such a stick in the mud. Why are we friends again?”

“Because I love you,” he teased as he gave her a crushing hug. She yelped when Quatre swatted her bottom. “Remember, no small talk. No global warming and cursive. Eat dessert first.”

“Check. Check. Got it.”

“Try not to have any wardrobe malfunctions. Here. Do a quick test jiggle.” He motioned for her to bounce up and down. She complied, throwing in a shimmy for good measure. Her dress was behaving, for the moment.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Call me when you get in. Or, y’know, whenever you’re conscious tomorrow.”

“I will.”

“Don't text me any pictures of Duo’s naked ass if the two of you hit it off.”

She pouted. “You’re no fun.” The walked downstairs together toward his car; Relena already called a cab for pickup. “Ooh,” she mentioned quickly before he unlocked his door. “What will he be wearing?”

“Duo? Knowing him, probably something black. And he has this big crucifix on a silver chain. Wears his hair long, and his bangs are always falling into his eyes. He’s cute.” 

“Sure hope so.”

“Knock him dead, babe.”

“Post my bail? Or send out the search dogs in forty-eight hours?”

“You know it. Love you.”

She air-kissed the space beside his cheek, preserving her careful pout. “Love you, too.”

*

 

“Here. Finish ironing this, would you?” Trowa looked up from his PC screen and got a mouthful of black, crumpled chambray for his troubles when Duo flung his dress shirt in his face. “M’running late.”

“What else is new? Iron your own shirt,” Trowa snapped.

“Can't. Gotta shower. Gotta do my hair. Iron’s already set up by the dining table,” Duo tossed over his shoulder as he stripped, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake.

"Aren't first dates about making a good impression? For most people?" Trowa mentioned. "How late _are_ you?"

"Just a little. It's not like I wanna seem 'desperate.'" Trowa huffed as he got up and wandered after Duo toward their bathroom, which already looked like a war zone. Duo's dirty laundry from earlier in the day still lay in a questionable-smelling mound behind the door, the one towel that was hanging on the rack was unfolded and damp, and the counter was strewn with hair products, shaving gel, spent disposable razor blades and a brush whose hard bristles were clotted up with skeins of chestnut hair.

"Women are supposed to be fashionably late," Trowa reminded him as he watched Duo hunt for his aftershave in the medicine cabinet, causing an avalanche of medicine bottles and jars. Trowa's sigh was long-suffering and typical.

"I'm exercising my equal opportunity right to be fashionable, then. Make yourself useful," Duo nagged. "Shirt. Needs ironing. First impressions? Didn't someone just lecture me about those? Wrinkles won't help."

"There's something wrong with you. There's something wrong with _me_ for indulging you." But Trowa pushed himself away from the edge of the bathroom doorway and headed for the ironing board. He extended the iron's retractable power cord to give himself more reach and laid out the wrinkled shirt, pausing to refill the water reservoir (Duo couldn't be bothered, that was nothing new). Trowa moved the iron in smooth, meticulous strokes, wishing he could straighten out his roommate as easily as the cotton.

Duo Maxwell was a mess.

Trowa detailed the shirt, smoothing the yoke, cuffs and collar and pressing crisp edges that he blasted with a burst of steam. Even if the date didn't go well, Duo would look _fantastic_. Trowa hung up the shirt on the bathroom door, getting hit with a whiff of Old Spice-scented steam from the shower. Trowa took the soggy towel and threw it into the dryer, which Duo misinterpreted for a moment.

"Hey! I need that!" he bellowed through the vinyl curtain.

"It was gross. I'm drying it. _You're welcome._ "

"Cool. Never mind."

"Shirt's on the door."

"Who's my brother from another mother?" Duo cheered.

"This guy," Trowa cheered back dryly. He saw Duo's silhouette in the curtain, watching his long ropes of hair swinging as he massaged shampoo into them; he would be in there a while. Trowa wandered back to Duo’s room – once theirs - and glanced at his bed. Unmade, piled high with unfolded clean laundry. Trowa sifted through it, fishing out a few pairs of briefs and socks. Predictably, Duo’s drawer was empty. Duo didn't need to show up even later because he couldn't find clean skivvies. Trowa folded up a few pairs of each and tucked them into the drawer in neat stacks. Even two years after their mutual agreement to be “just friends,” Trowa had a hard time letting go of his domestic compulsion to take care of his ex-boyfriend. 

Trowa stopped himself at folding the rest of the clothes, remembering the towel in the dryer. Duo could dress himself, couldn't he? Trowa was interrupted from his musings by the obnoxious typewriter chime of Duo’s phone. He grabbed it and glanced at the screen.

_ready yet?_ Quatre’s contact photo made him look uncharacteristically scruffy; Duo had to have taken it of him at a party. Trowa fought the urge to reply. He remembered the towel, retrieving it from the dryer and chucking it onto the toilet lid. Duo was working on his conditioner and singing Ed Sheeran off-key. Trowa felt wistful for a moment, but he shook it off.

Trowa closed the shower door and went back to Duo’s room. He peeked back at the phone.

_She just left. wearing a little black dress. _Then,__

_Be nice. She’s rebounding._

Trowa winced.

As much as Trowa once loved Duo - still loved him, even if what they had couldn't withstand their differences - he wasn't always the most sensitive person. Did you need a date for a wedding reception you were being dragged to? Duo would be there with bells on, especially if there was a hosted bar. Need a shoulder to cry on? Duo would show up in a washable shirt and reassure you that it wasn't the end of the world, holding you until your entire body went slack from how safe you felt. Not looking for a committed relationship? Duo was guaranteed to make you laugh for a few weeks before gradually returning fewer of your calls and "letting things run their course" when he got bored. Physically generous? Check. Funny? Check. Always up for a good time? Check. 

But Trowa read Quatre's furtive message and felt a frisson of panic run through him. Did this girl know what she was getting into? Would she get her hopes up? Was she looking for Duo to be "Mr. Right," or "Mr. I'll Call You Tomorrow?"

Trowa chewed on that thought until he heard the thunk of the water turning off the whip of the towel being jerked off the rod. He dropped Duo's phone like a hot potato and went back to sorting his clothes to cover the flush rising up his cheeks. Duo grinned at him as he sauntered in, dripping everywhere.

"Did I get any messages?"

"Sounds like it," Trowa murmured. Duo checked his screen, hastily punching in the passcode. Trowa's stomach knot twisted a little more at Duo's heavy sigh.

"I'm never letting Q talk me into another fix-up," he predicted. "It's gonna be a disaster." He grabbed Trowa's arm and his eyes tried to be grave but failed. "You have to call me. Text me. Pretend I have to come get you from the hospital or a bad date, or that your car broke down."

"No!" Trowa snapped. "Don't bring me into this! She might be nice! Give her a chance. You might have fun. But Duo was giving him _that look_. Bad choices followed that look, like the time Duo talked him into a temporary colored glosser on his hair that was supposed to give him subtle highlights but instead left him with violently purple hair for three months. Duo's eyes twinkled.

"C'mon," he cajoled. "One little favor, Tro."

"NO."

"Please-please-please..."

"Nooooooooo." Trowa walked away, still flushing and closing his ears to his pleas. This couldn't end well.

"She could be a drama queen," Duo pointed out.

"She could be cute. She could be a sweetie."

"She'll have _baggage._ "

"Or she could just want to have fun," Trowa pointed out.

"Yeah, but why did Quat point that out?"

"I don't know," Trowa lied, but he had his suspicions. He read that text and heard the unspoken "Don't hurt my friend" loud and clear. And now, this could end up going sideways.

Duo chased him out of the room, still dripping and bare. "Trowa! Look, do me a solid. Please. _Please._ "

"Duo, it's a date. You agreed to being set up."

"I don't think I agree anymore," Duo complained, and Trowa growled under his breath. His roommate was being childish.

"Don't back out of it. That'll make you a dick."

Duo sighed heavily.

"Text him back," Trowa ordered. "Let him know you're running late. And of course text her," he added quickly.

Duo whined. Trowa folded his arms and gave him the stink-eye.

"Seriously?" Duo sounded like he wasn't finished pleading.

"You already committed to it. Don't try to get out of it."

"Maybe she doesn't want to go, either..."

"Read the text. Black dress. She's expecting a classy date, pal." Duo exhaled loudly and closed his eyes in defeat. "Go dry your hair. It's gonna take a while."

"Hey," Duo piped up. "I just remembered. My car has a bald tire."

"You remember this _now_?"

"I don't want to get a fix-it ticket," Duo pointed out.

"Then I'll drive you there. If you two drink, it's just as well."

Duo nodded. "Oh, there's gonna be alcohol." Duo turned tail and headed back to his room, but then ducked his head back into the corridor. "Hey. If you're giving me a ride, put on something nicer than that."

"What-"

"And hurry it up. You're gonna make us late," Duo warned. Trowa squawked in outrage and ran after him, hand raised to swat him, but Duo kicked the door shut. Trowa still caught his wicked grin and snicker.

Resigned, Trowa retreated to his own room to get ready. He rummaged through his closet and found a trim black dri-fit tee with long sleeves and black skinny jeans. He headed back down the hall to Duo's room and rapped on the door. "Give me the towel," Trowa ordered.

"It's wet," Duo called back.

"It'll do." Trowa wouldn't indulge himself by putting it in the dryer again; Duo's poor date would be waiting long enough by the time Duo dried and braided his hair. Duo shoved the towel at him through the door crack and Trowa rushed through his shower, mashing a handful of shampoo into his hair and letting the runnels of foam run down over his body. He gave all the vital parts a cursory scrub and paused for a minute, listening to the spray slap the tile. _Why, Duo?_

Trowa dried off, making a face at the feel of "wet towel," rolled on some deodorant and jerked on his clothes. He scrubbed his hair dry, contemplating it a moment. He wouldn't have time to blow dry it, and he settled for scrunching some product into his bangs, combing them with his fingers. It would have to do. After all, _he_ wasn't the one with a date.

That made him wistful. He _wasn't_ the one with the date. Trowa couldn't decide if he was relieved or bereft. Living with his ex wasn't helping matters, because yes, Trowa Barton was lonely.

The worst thing... what he missed most was having someone look at him like he was amazing, exactly what the doctor ordered. Whoever made him feel that way again, though, could never, _ever_ take him for granted.

Never.

*

Duo was putting on the finishing touches, sliding silver rings onto his fingers and a small hoop over his left brow. His bedroom reeked of body spray when Trowa leaned against the doorframe to hurry him along. He looked handsome, all in black as was his habit, and his hair was a gleaming, meticulous plait hanging down his back.

"Hey. You look nice," Duo accused.

"Ready?"

"Yeah. Gimme a sec. Hey, y'know what? Hold that pose."

"No... Duo! Don't," Trowa groaned as Duo retrieved his phone from the dresser and snapped a quick shot of Trowa.

"Nice one. You always look hot when you're annoyed," Duo informed him as he smirked down at the screen. "That's a keeper."

"Move it along."

"You're no fun," Duo accused with a huff. Trowa grabbed his keys off the hook by the bookcase and they sauntered out, climbing into Trowa's small navy pickup. Duo put on his seatbelt one-handed, leaning over immediately to fiddle with Trowa's stereo. Raucous techno music filled the tiny cab, and Trowa sighed. Duo was a bundle of nervous energy, despite his reticence about the date. He sat and fiddled with his phone, rapidly texting, and Trowa wondered what he was telling Quatre, if he'd told him he wanted to cop out.

"I sent Q your pic. He said to send you _his_ way."

"Isn't he the blond with the eyes?" Turquoise blue, with ridiculously long lashes. They were stunning.

"Yup."

"Isn't he a little on the shallow side?"

"That's not a dealbreaker."

"No. That's the sound of me falling asleep in my soup. He's not my type. Sorry, Quatre," Trowa told Duo's phone, even though he wasn't on a call. Duo chuckled.

"So _picky_."

"Hey. Y'know what? Come in with me."

"Uh... why?"

"Just park and come in!" They reached the garage tower, and Trowa grabbed the ticket from the gate's dispenser, nodding at the bored-looking guard.

"Where are you meeting her again?"

"Club Zero," Duo told him, like it was a given. "C'mon, just for a minute."

"What, d'you need me to hold your hand?" Trowa scoffed. He killed the engine and waited for Duo to get out so he could hit the locks. Their steps echoed back at them from the concrete floor. "I'm not gonna be a third wheel."

"No, not because of _that._ I need you to be my wing man."

"what?!? Your _wing man._ "

"Just in case."

"In case of _what_?"

"I dunno. Just... just come and scope her out."

"You're demented. You've seriously lost it." Trowa's green eyes were filled with confusion and annoyance. He threw up his hands. "You've been set up before."

"I know."

"That means meeting your own date. Saying hello. Introducing yourself. 'Hi. My name is Duo. I'm housebroken, I have an internet gaming addiction, and I can eat with utensils.'"

"Oh, ha-ha."

"It'll be like ripping off a band-aid."

"Or it'll be painless if _you_ test the waters for me."

"And what does that even involve?" Trowa was almost intrigued; more than anything, he was just impressed by his gall.

"Walking in first. Look around a little. When you see her, ask her the time. See what she's like."

"And then what? Yell out the door that she's fine?" Trowa was half-joking, but Duo nodded emphatically.

"Or just excuse yourself for a sec and text me." Duo's phone chirped as they reached Club Zero, or rather the edge of the block where it sat and the huge line of people snaking around the corner from it.

"No. Because you can go in there yourself," Trowa insisted. "Like a normal person."

"Where's the fun in 'normal?'"

Before Trowa could argue the point, they were interrupted by a sharp, girlish cry. "DUO! UP HERE!" Trowa looked up and saw Duo's friend Hilde from his anthropology class waving her arms like she was flagging down a ride.

“There,” Trowa told him. “Hilde can be your wingman.”

“Pfft, NO. Hey, she’s letting us cut!”

“She’s letting _you_ cut. What- Leggo!” Trowa stumbled into step with Duo as he dragged him along toward a beaming Hilde, who immediately glomped Duo.

“You look good! So do you, Trowa! Are you guys out on a date? Are you getting back together?”

“No,” Trowa snapped, and Duo chuckled bitterly, sighing.

“Can't blame a guy for trying,” Duo offered.

“Soooo… Are you meeting someone?” Hilde inquired, changing gears as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

“He is,” Trowa supplied. He flushed uncomfortably at the annoyed grumbles behind them from people they cut in front of, and he just wanted to go home. “Duo has a blind date that he’s trying to ditch.”

“Oh, _lame,_ ” she huffed. “Seriously? Don’t ditch. That’s an asshole move.” Duo rolled his eyes, then gave her a pleading look.

“She’s on the rebound! Q said so!”

“So?” But doubt shone in her eyes, and she recanted. “You don't want to be the guy that stood her up, though, right after she broke up with someone. You don’t want that on your conscience.” She reached out and smoothed Duo’s sleeve. “At least you look cute.”

“Cute? Just ‘cute’?” Duo feigned outrage. Trowa grinned.

“She calls ‘em like she sees ‘em, cutie pie.” 

“Too much jewelry, though,” Hilde murmured. 

“Too much?” Duo frowned, waving her off. “I look _stunning_.”

“No. It’s gaudy. The rings are a bit much, but… Hmmm.” She gently poked his eyebrow ring, then made a face. “This. The cross. It’s tarnished. And it’s too much.”

“It’s my lucky charm,” Duo argued, but Hilde reached for it, tugging the chain around to reach and unfasten the clasp. “Just leave it.”

“No. It’s tacky. It’s too much. Here, you take it,” Hilde told Trowa, and she tugged him over to put it on him. Trowa chafed at her familiarity and her overwhelming, sweet perfume. She fastened the clasp and let the charm drop against Trowa’s collarbones. She beamed. “It works well with what you have on,” she told him.

“It looked fine on me!” Duo’s tone was exasperated, but he glanced down at his phone when it chirped with a text.

“Well, she’s inside.”

“Good,” Trowa told him. He turned to leave, but Hilde pulled him back.

“Stick around! Have a drink with us!”

“I wasn't planning on it-“

A large group of guests exited the club on a loud, swaying tide. The bouncer lowered the velvet rope, and Trowa felt himself buffeted forward by the people behind him.

“Get your ID,” Duo hissed.

“But-“

“Are you all together?” The bouncer was a beefy, non-nonsense blond in glasses that read “YOU Keep Calm, Or I’ll Kick You Out,” little out-of-style crown logo and all. 

“No,” Trowa told him, but Duo elbowed him.

“Yes! Us three!” Trowa grumbled and pulled out his wallet against his better judgment. “This isn't Space Mountain, where you get out at the chicken exit.”

“I did that _one_ time.” Trowa pried his ID out of his leather tri-fold’s sleeve and handed it to the bouncer, who promptly shone his flashlight in his face effectively blinding him. Trowa cursed and blinked away spots as Duo and Hilde hustled him inside.

Trowa reached back into his wallet to put away his license and pull out a few crumpled ones for the cover, wondering why this night was costing him money. Duo tugged on his arm. “I hafta pee.”

“Of course you,” Trowa shouted back over the music.”

“Find us a seat!”

“No! Find your date!”

“Thanks for finding us a table!” Duo rushed off with Hilde in tow; Trowa wouldn't doubt it if she had to visit the powder room, too. How was this his life. 

*

Relena toyed with the last of her lemon drop martini, licking her fingertip and swiping at the sugar crystals rimming the glass. Duo wasn't earning points for punctuality, and she was getting a draft, despite the stuffy interior of the club. She tugged at the hem of her dress, wishing it was longer, hindsight useless now that she’d spent the past half-hour being wolf whistled and hit on. Club Zero had decent music, but it was a little grubby for her tastes; the floor by the bar stuck slightly to her soles and the bathrooms made her shudder. Where on earth was her date?

_he still hasn't shown up._ She hoped her text to Quatre sounded terse. She saw his typing bubbles onscreen and sighed.

_he should be there._

_Well, he’s not. Is it even worth my while?_ her screen was dormant for a while, bubbled for a moment, then paused again. That was never a good sigh.

Then a text from Duo’s number popped up, and Relena felt renewed jitters. _just got here. Sry m late._

“So, show yourself,” Relena said aloud as she typed. “How. Will. I. Find. You?”

Her phone paused, bubbles and all, and then she felt it hum in her hand as it downloaded a photo.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh. My,”

Quatre texted her again, asking her if she wanted to call Duo to check his status, but Relena sent him a quick “nm “ and tucked her phone into her purse. She twisted around in her seat and scanned the seat, and she felt herself buffeted by a man with long chestnut hair and a dark-haired girl who was giggling about something behind him. “Sorry,” he told her, barely sparing a glance. Relena huffed, ignoring him and missing his brief, appreciative double take. Relena stood to better assess the crowd. She hovered around the periphery of the dance floor, looking for a man in a black shirt.

Preppie. Hippie. Preppie. Hipster with a hillbilly beard. Preppie. Frat guy. Frat guys. More frat guys. She slapped away a hand that got too familiar, cursing the dress. Relena was about to give up hope, ready to pack it in, go home and binge-watch _Real Housewives_ when the crowd parted, and she saw six feet of gorgeous, lean brunette, dressed all in black. The spinning , rainbow lights brought out auburn glints in his hair, and he squinted beneath the glare, holding up a strong-looking, long-fingered hand to shield his eyes.

His eyes. Quatre said they were pretty. Shaggy hair. All in black. And an ornate crucifix, just like he’d hinted. 

Here was her date. Her stomach fluttered with excitement, and she pushed through the crowd. “Duo!” She called out.

“What?” Trowa turned at the sound of an unfamiliar female voice, and suddenly, a petite, half-naked girl with wheat blonde was beaming at him like she knew him.

“It’s me ! I’m Relena, your date!”

“What?!?” She chuckled and took advantage of his stunned pause to pull him into her arms.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.”


	2. Blame It On The Guinness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo. Bad ex. Worse roommate. AWESOME inadvertent matchmaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the smut I promised. I am getting used to my new laptop. ClaraxBarton, thank you for the prompt and being patient. And awesome.

Trowa immediately went rigid and stiff in the arms of Duo's supposed blind date, and he felt his whole face flushing, made worse by the people around them that glanced at their exchange, smirking. Or, it could have been her outfit, a drafty, flamboyant bandage dress that left little to the imagination. She laughed into his shoulder; she was medium height, and for some weird reason, that... satisfied him.

She pulled back and gave him an appraising glance, smiling. "Wow," she murmured. "Look at you! So, I'm Relena. Bet that's obvious," she added.

_It is now._ Trowa cleared his throat and pulled all the way out of her grip, then awkwardly extended his hand. "It's... nice to meet you, too. Did you just get here?"

"Oh, no. I mean, I was running late, getting ready, but, I've kind of been waiting a while." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and the gesture was charming and slightly shy, and Trowa immediately wanted to kick Duo for standing up a girl who for all intents seemed really nice. "Uh... I'm not always late, just so you know. I mean, you did show up _later_ than me."

"I got... held up." Trowa was at a complete loss. Duo was the one who dragged his feet getting ready, and Trowa was the one losing points. Even worse, instead of being Duo's "wing man," here he was, standing in for Duo on his _date._ He wondered how he'd been so easily snared.

"Quatre said he wasn't going to cheat by sending me a photo," Relena went on. "It was a pleasant surprise when you sent me one, instead."

"I did?" Her brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he recovered himself. "Oh. Right. I just...wanted you to be able to find me in this crowd." Because his errant roommate was goodness-knew-where. Relena's smile resumed its wattage.

"It was nice. It didn't do you justice, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I...don't mind." Trowa rubbed his nape. He was still flushing, tingling with nerves. "That's some outfit you have on, there."

"Oh, God! This?" Relena relexively folded her arms around herself, as though that would make a difference in coverage. The definition of "little black dress" didn't include this. So much slender, toned leg (hers seemed _endless_ ) stared back at him - because he was staring - and her fair skin winked out from between the wide bands of black, sleek Lycra.

"So," Trowa repeated, "have you been here long?" He hated how off-kilter his own voice sounded.

"Oh. Well, yeah. Kind of. I only had one drink," she explained, and she was feeling it. Relena's Inner Adult nagged her to quit rambling.

Trowa clutched at straws. "Would you like another one?" he blurted out.

"Oh, thank God," she exclaimed, "yes."

A war waged itself inside Trowa between his need for honesty and his distaste toward disappointing this girl, whose mouth was currently running on autopilot.

“So is Duo a nickname?” she pried as he flagged down the barkeep from the swelling crowd. They were buffeted and pushed closer together by the people surrounding them, and Trowa felt even more conscious of her scent, girlishly floral and a bit metallic. He flushed even more when her breast grazed his arm as he reached over to get her a water glass and the iced pitcher. It was next to impossible to focus on anything but her skin in that damned dress.

“Sorry, didn’t…I’m sorry. No.”

“You’re sorry it’s not?”

“No! No, that’s… sorry I bumped you. And it’s not. It’s really Duo.” Even though it really wasn’t.

She beamed. “It’s so different.”

‘Yeah, kinda. What would were you drinking?”

“Lemon drop martini?”

“Want another?”

“Please.” The bartender took his order for a lemon drop and a bottle of Yuengling, and Trowa fished in his wallet for his debit initially, then remembered that it read “Trowa Barton” in silver block letters. He managed to pull out a crumpled handful of bills and searched himself for a solution to the problem of Duo’s jilted – sort of – date. “So, Duo, what do you do again?”

“Do?” Shit…

“For work.”

“Uh…”

“You _do_ work, right? Quatre told me at some point, but I forgot.”

Shitshitshit.

“Wasn’t it something technical?”

“Tech support. IS admin at the Heavy Arms Gym on Ninth Street.” It wouldn’t kill him to give her _some_ of the truth, would it?

“Right! I knew he told me it was something like that. I wish I was more technical,” she explained as they watched her drink being shaken and poured from a metal mixer and the glass rimmed in lemon juice and sugar. “I don’t know why I thought Quatre said you were a graphic designer.” Trowa hid his wince as he took a cautious sip of his beer.

“What else did Quatre mention?”

“Not much else.” It was difficult to hear her over the throbbing bass of the music, and that meant leaning in closer than politeness allowed. Relena didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes – cornflower blue, so deep you could drown in them – kept drinking him in. “The usual things.”

Trowa sighed, deciding to take a different tack. The bartender slid both of the drinks to him, and Trowa handed her the narrow-stemmed glass crowned with a fragrant lemon wedge. Their fingers grazed, and Relena glanced away to cover the flush in her cheeks. “So that means you’re having second thoughts, then.”

“No! God, no. I’m really not. Really.”

Because “Duo Maxwell” was gorgeous. Taller than she pictured, quiet, calm, and she wouldn’t pretend to be anything but flattered at the way he kept stealing glances at her. She hid a pleased little smile behind the rim of her glass. 

“You’re just not what I expected.”  
As if on cue, Trowa’s phone buzzed with a text. He’d been so distracted that he forgot that Duo and Hilde had given him the slip.

_Looks like you have things handled. Hilde and me are gonna jam…_

“The fuck…?” Trowa’s brows beetled, and Relena set down her martini.

“Something wrong?”

“No…no. Just, I have an annoying roommate.”

“I’m so glad I live alone. I’m broke as a joke, mind you, but the peace is worth living on dollar store ramen.” Relena watched him tap something terse onto his smartphone screen and went back to her drink.

“I thought about moving out. Just dragging my feet a little, I guess. But it’s worth it for the location. Subway access, a Safeway, and a Starbucks all across the street. I could afford a place the size of a shoebox on what I make alone.”

“Calling mine a shoebox is being kind.” Over her shoulder, Trowa caught a maddening glimpse of Duo sneaking out the front door. His scalp tingled and he felt his cheeks burn.

Well.

“You look upset,” Relena told him.

“Huh?”

“Just now.”

“No. Yes. Wait, _no._ ”

“Can I help?”

“No. You don’t have to. Y’know what? You want another?”

“Another drink? I wouldn’t mind.” She brightened and downed the last of the sweet concoction. Trowa waved down the barkeep and ordered a refill. Relena began to slouch a bit, understandable in those ridiculous shoes. Trowa snagged a barstool once its occupant wandered off and helped Relena up onto its cool wooden surface, giving him an even better view of her legs.

He texted Duo back.

_Idiot. Your loss._

*

_Things must be going well?_

Relena glanced down at her smartphone when she felt it buzz from the recess of her tiny purse. Her lips twitched. Her date raised his brows with interest.

“What? What’s that look for?”

“Oh. Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, checking my phone.” _Going well. He’s a fox. You didn’t tell me he was so tall._

“It’s a free country.” But Trowa chafed. Relena was tapping out a quick reply.

“Hey…I’m sorry. I’m a boring date. It’s just…I broke up with someone.”

“Good,” he murmured, then he recanted. “Uh, I mean, that’s too bad.” She ducked her face, cheeks pinkening behind her fall of hair.

“No, it’s…good. We didn’t click.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The awkward pause lingered, making Trowa sweat.

He could go. Tell her his roommate was an ass, and his ex. Come clean.

“Hey, do you wanna dance?” The bass dropped on a blaring techno song, and she was eyeing the dance floor hopefully.

Or he could dance.

“I wouldn’t mind.” He took one last gulp of his beer right before she tugged him into the crowd. Her hand was cool and soft, grip firm so they didn’t get separated.

*

Relena was horrible at small talk. She babbled, steered the talk toward unfavorable subjects, and generally put her foot in her mouth because, as Quatre told her often, she was always trying too hard. Yet Heero hadn’t minded. He was her captive audience at a small kick-back that found him huddled in the kitchen, nursing a dark ale where he leaned against the fridge. 

“You’re so quiet back here,” she told him shyly, smiling to cover her pounding heartbeat, because he was _gorgeous_ , and Lord, _please_ don’t let her say something ridiculous.

“Well, I _was_.”

“Oh. Um. Do you want me to go?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.” His smile was lazy and Relena thought she could drown in his cobalt eyes.

She should have known better. Heero was aloof and brittle as an icicle. Relena was the one who asked for _his_ number and invited him out. She instigated almost all of their dates. His shrugs were a common gesture whenever she asked him what he wanted to do, and after a handful of months, they became infuriating. But he was a challenge. Relena enjoyed a challenge, and that was her weakness. Quatre couldn’t make her see reason, even when he brought up the warning signs or how little they had in common.

“Tell me I’m being ridiculous next time,” she groused to Q over consolation ice cream at Coldstone.

“I did.”

“Well, make me listen.”

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“You’re no help.”

“And I’m not your father. You walked into that one all by yourself.”

She’d grown just bored enough, just lonely enough a few weeks after her breakup that when Quatre told her that a friend of his had just become available, she felt excitement stirring in her belly. 

“Interested?”

“I’m taking applications. Go. Give him my number. Tell him how awesome I am, and don’t leave anything out.”

*

Quatre had left out that Relena was a great dancer, making him reconsider techno music if it evoked visions of her body rippling in that dress. By the fifth song, she showed no sign of wanting a break, even in those towering heels. Trowa was impressed.

Dancing meant a minimum of small talk. Dancing meant braving the crush of the crowd and feeling Trowa occasionally tug her closer as more clubbers bumped against them, forcing toward the center of the floor. 

Dancing meant feeling the faint brush of Trowa’s soft shirt and rough denim making fleeting contact with her body, causing friction. The heady rush of her buzz from the lemon-flavored vodka made her feel hot and hyper-aware, music blending with the swirl of prisms thrown by the disco ball hanging above.

It was all going well until a man in a Chapel Hill baseball hat with an enormous bill – still stickered with the size- bumped into her, dousing her with the contents of his beer glass despite the “No Drinks on the Dance Floor” sign posted ten feet away. Relena yelped in less than dignified fashion.

“SHIT! Shitshitshit! Oh, God! Cold! That was cold!”

The front of the fragile Lycra knit was soaked through.

“Watch it!” Trowa snapped at him.

“She bumped into _me,_ ” he protested unapologetically.

“No, I _didn’t,_ ” Relena argued.

“Pfft…dancing all wild like that, honey, you were gonna crash into _someone_.”

Trowa was unamused, his eyes flat green chips.

“Maybe you should be more careful next time with your beer,” he said coldly, loudly, drawing the attention of the ID checker at the door, who promptly intervened.

“That beer belongs off this floor,” he warned. “Take it out of here, pal.”

“I’m going to get cleaned up,” Relena complained, holding out her arms in disgust. “I smell like Guinness, now.”

“I’ll hang out here,” Trowa promised. The man in the hat saluted him with a hard smirk, then flipped him off as he retreated to the bar to order another drink. Trowa fumed. But he noticed Relena having to push through the crowd in her attempt to get to the bathrooms, and he decided it was a better idea to escort her. He quelled the lewd glances she was getting now that the dress’s fabric was transparent and wet.

“Thanks,” she told him sheepishly, and he realized that his hand was gently pressed against the small of her back. He felt bereft at having to release her.

“Sure.”

“Just be a minute.” She turned and fled into the bathroom, annoying a line of girls waiting for the two questionable stalls until she hissed that she was just there to wash up. A tall blonde with girlish braids smirked at her.

“You’re standing up at attention,” she pointed out.

“Yeahhhh, I know,” Relena murmured. “Thanks for that.”

“Of course!” Relena made a face at her in the mirror as she began to swab down her dress with damp paper towels. Her skin felt sticky and prickly with the blast of air conditioning as it began to cool her sweat-and-ale-dampened flesh. Her face was shiny and flushed, and her hair looked frowsier than it had when she first stepped out. She freshened her bruised lipstick, noting it was a shallow halo of mauve around her mouth. 

She fluffed her hair slightly and swabbed down her neck before she continued patting at her dress, an ineffectual effort, but the huge wet patch wasn’t doing her any favors.

She would pass muster. Relena popped a peppermint Tic-Tac into her mouth and savagely crunched it between her teeth.

“Can I have one?” Braided Girl asked her.

“Why not?” Relena shook two of them into her hand.

“You with that tall guy?”

“He’s my date. I just met him tonight.”

“He’s cute,” she mentioned. “I thought I saw him in line earlier with a guy who had his hair in a long braid. He was cute, too. I almost thought they were dating.”

Relena’s stomach plummeted. “Oh.”

That was a dealbreaker. Quat told her Duo was single.

“See you,” she told the girl, face blank and stride stiff as she left the loo. 

Trowa looked up and smiled when she came back. “Better?” he asked.

“A little. Hey, Duo,” and Relena noticed his brows drawing together for a moment. “Uh…can I ask you something?”

“What’s up?”

“Did you show up with someone tonight?”

Trowa’s stomach balled itself up into a knot. “No. Well, yes. Kind of. My roommate wanted me to drop him off here.”  
“Is he still here?” Relena’s eyes scanned the crowd, but Trowa dismissed it. 

“No. He took off with a lady friend of his.” _Jilting you in the process, even though you didn’t deserve it,_ he didn’t add.

“Oh.” She looked pacified, shoulders relaxing. “Wanna dance?” she asked again.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he agreed, again, but this time, Trowa guided her carefully through the crowd, and his grip was protective and warm. He kept her close; he felt her hand slide up his back to his shoulder as they reached the dance floor and threw themselves back into the throbbing bass.

The music pulled at them, and Relena revisited how it felt to drift in his orbit, mere centimeters between them. She dismissed the thought that she still reeked of Guinness, and it didn’t deter Trowa from drawing closer. His eyes reflected the flickering lights, bottle green and consuming her. She gyrated, turning and fitting her back against his lean front, and she smiled in triumph when she felt his hands drift to her waist. 

Yes. _This._ This was instinctive and felt right, the press of a new body and a touch that felt slightly possessive but reverent. They were well-matched, and she noticed with satisfaction that he was at half-mast, grazing her with each pump of her hips. Through her back, she felt his heartbeat quicken. The song bled into the next, and a rapid strobe showered their flesh with a blue glow.

“Relena?”

“Yes?” His voice was close to her ear, lips grazing its crest. She shivered.

“Who’s the short guy over there staring at you?” 

“Huh?” That roused her from her daze and the warmth of his body, and she dared a glance in the direction that Trowa nodded.

Heero. Slouched at the bar, watching her over the neck of his beer. More Guinness, she noticed with silent distaste. Still cool, detached and handsome in a mock turtlenecked tank that showed off his arms. His eyes roved over her, taking in her hair, her dress, and eventually, her partner. She saw his chest thrum with a brief huff, unable to name the emotion that flitted over his face.  
He decided he saw enough, she guessed, when he pushed away from the bar and sauntered off. 

“Wow,” she murmured.

“Is he the ex?”

“Yeah.” Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears, its spark diminished.

She wasn’t expecting him to spin her around to face him, to propel them further into the crowd, and her arms wanted to coil themselves around his neck. She allowed them free rein. There was a hint of understanding in his face.

“You were having a good time a moment ago.”

Her eyes flicked away from him, then she spoke to his throat, having a hard time looking him in the face

“It just didn’t end well. It’s just weird seeing him out here. I would never expect to. This wasn’t his scene.” She stopped herself from continuing when she realize Duo – Trowa – might not want her sob story. “Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be.” She felt him sigh, and she settled herself against him, relaxing against him, and he was hot and solid and smelled masculine, his cologne sharpened by his sweat. “This date wasn’t supposed to suck for you.” 

That made her laugh outright. “I didn’t say it _sucked_.”

“It wasn’t _ideal_.” Not by Trowa’s standards. He liked dancing, but he would have liked getting to know her better over dinner at quiet table, without the jostling crowd and earbleed techno.

“Maybe not ‘ideal,’ but not exactly ‘horrible,” she mused. “Do you bring a lot of girls here?”

She felt him chuckle. “No.”

“Quatre said this was where you wanted to meet.”

Of course he did. _Duo_ loved clubs. Trowa only suffered them if they had an outdoor patio where he could escape or a billiard table where he could break away from the crowd and enjoy a game and some peace.

Their close clench was less incongruous when a slow song played, and Relena’s arms tightened around him. His breath stirred the damp strands of hair plastered to her temple. He still smelled the remnant of her perfume and a hint of peppermint on her breath, the worst of the beer had evaporated. She felt right in his arms, smooth and pliant, and his thoughts raced.

“Was he usually honest with you?” he asked.

“Brutally. I have mixed feelings about that, in hindsight…”

“Yeah. Guess you would.” He sighed, steeling himself. “Look, Relena, I-“

“Yes?” She pulled back from him, and a tiny divot appeared between her brows. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Not wrong, but, just come with me. Let’s talk for a minute.” Her body was distracting him, and he was having a hard time fighting the urge to find out how she tasted.

“Okay.” She followed him toward a vacant table, empty glasses littering its surface left from the bachelorette party who were now cheering on the bride wearing a veil decorated with condoms. They didn’t make it to their destination.

Relena felt the sudden, familiar splash of cold liquid dousing her body again. She shrieked in outrage.

“What the _fuck!_ ” Her shoulders were stiff, and her face held shock as she stared down Baseball Hat, who looked amused until he noticed Trowa to her left.

He was not amused. 

“Look, we’ve gotta stop meeting like this, sweetheart, and can I just say that you’ve got a _potty mouth_ on you.”

Trowa exhaled and mentally counted to three. “Relena?” 

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

That’s when Trowa punched him.

*

“Wow. Boy, that’s the first time I’ve ever been thrown out of a club.”

“I’m sor-“

“No. _No._ Don’t. Don’t apologize, Duo. That guy was an ass.”  
Trowa winced. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “About that. We still need to talk.” They were headed back toward the parking garage, and Trowa restrained the urge to put an arm around her, since she was shivering from the chill in her damp dress.

“Okay.”

“This wasn’t the date I planned.”

“Yeah. I kinda figured.”

“Not just the stuff that happened tonight,” Trowa amended. “I wasn’t the one who arranged to meet you here.”

“What do you mean?”

Trowa’s phone picked that moment to buzz. He was going to be pissed if it was Duo wanting him to pick him up; he could get a ride home from Hilde.

It was an unknown number on his phone, but he recognized the digits from Duo’s. 

_Duo told me that he split. Are you still with Relena?_

“Shit,” Trowa murmured. _Yes._

_Did you show her a good time?_

_I tried._

Relena decided it wouldn’t be too rude if she finally checked her messages, too, and she dug out her phone. Trowa glanced at her, noticing her small frown, but his own messenger was busily typing, making bubbles on Trowa’s screen.

_I will make this brief. This is a shovel talk, if you hadn’t guessed. Relena’s my friend. She’s a sweetie and she deserves all the good things. She just had her heart broken, and she’s been a good sport through all of my I-told-you-so’s._ Trowa chuckled and shook his head.

Relena’s voice cut off his mirth.

“Trowa?”

Hearing his correct name stunned him. He swallowed. “Yes,” he blurted out.

“Do you mind telling me what all this was about before I drive myself home from this clusterfuck of a date and kill my friend who arranged it?”

The guy in the hat didn’t have it wrong, after all: Relena Darlian _did_ have potty mouth.

“I’d really prefer to tell you somewhere that we could sit down.” His hand throbbed, and his knuckles were red and beginning to swell. “And somewhere that I can get some ice.”

He glanced down at his screen again. _Relena sent me a photo of you earlier tonight. I kept texting her back to tell her that wasn’t Duo, but she wouldn’t answer me._ Relena looked put out. “Please?” he prodded.

“Fine,” she muttered, sighing. She was still shivering.

He took it as a positive sign that she didn’t pull away from the hand that he laid against her lower back; she leaned into the contact, and Trowa wrapped his arm around her, offering her his warmth.

*

They ended up at a hole-in-the-wall diner three blocks down. Relena’s feet were protesting every step, but they were greeted by a friendly waitress who led them to a table in the back, handing them two laminated menus that had just been wiped off. Relena sat across from Duo – Trowa? – and perused the menu, murmuring to the waitress that water would be fine, thanks.

“So. You’re not my date.”

“Not technically.”

“What happened?”

“His friend Hilde happened. Then he pulled the slip. See, I live with him.”

“Seriously?” Her mouth dropped open. “Do you know Quatre, then?”

“No. Duo and I didn’t always have the same friends, even when we were together.”

“You were together.” Her voice sounded hollow as she pronounced the last word.

“Yes. It was complicated.”

“God, it always is.”

“Yeah.”

They both sipped on their water, toying with lemon wedges and straw wrappers to occupy the silence.

“So. What’s Duo like?”

“He’s one of a kind. He’s not always polite, but he has his good qualities.”

“How long did you date?”

“Three years. We’ve been broken up for two.”

“But you live with him? Isn’t that hard?”

“It’s worth it for the rent. The ship has sailed,” Trowa shrugged. He sounded despondent. “In the end, we didn’t click. He took a lot for granted.”

“Yeah. I bet he did.”

Trowa ordered the fried chicken salad. Relena remembered Quatre’s earlier injunction and ordered the cheesecake.

*

The longer they talked, the more they ate off of each other’s plates, voices growing hoarse. Trowa enjoyed watching her eat.

“I always mean to come here, but I never have.”

“I like to have breakfast for dinner here, sometimes.”

“I love waffles for dinner,” she agreed. 

“When I come late at night, it’s quiet like this.”

“This more your speed?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m cold,” she complained, rubbing her arms.

“The beer didn’t help,” he mentioned as he forked up another morsel of her cheesecake.

“The beer didn’t help, no.” She snagged some of his salad, scooping greens and the last fragments of crunchy breading onto her own fork. “I’m ready for Buffy reruns, pajamas and my fuzzy blanket. Hey, is your hand okay?”

“I might put some ice on it when I get –“ He paused when his phone buzzed, then sighed as he read the text. “-home. Or not.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Duo brought Hilde home.”

Relena shook her head and laughed. Trowa’s smile was crooked. He shrugged.

“So, Trowa,” Relena prodded, “how do you feel about Buffy reruns?”

*

He followed her to her apartment in his car, surprised that it was almost three AM. He parked on the street, noticing that her brownstone had individual carports. She was waiting for him expectantly, shifting from one foot to the other, still shivering, but this time when he wrapped an arm around her, she craned her face up and accepted his kiss, hot, searching and deep. His mouth tasted salty and sweet, and they lingered there a moment, flush against each other, his long fingers sifting through her hair. Relena’s heartbeat was a hollow, insistent thud in her ears. The sounds from the street faded away, leaving behind their uneven, hitched breaths.

They made their way to her apartment door, and he distracted her from the task of finding her keys, lips hot against her temple, grazing her ear and making her skin break out in tingles. “Having trouble?” he husked. He was caressing her body through the thin Lycra, and she rocked her ass back against him. He was stiff and straining, and she needed to let him in the door _five minutes ago_. She found the keys, barely fumbling the right one into the lock in her excitement. They staggered inside, and Relena kicked the door shut behind them. Then he gave in to the siren call of her body, claimed her rosy mouth, barely tinged with the mauve remnants of her lipstick, and he groaned with need. They stumbled toward the hall once she chucked her purse on the couch. “To the left,” she said between kisses. Trowa slid his hands down the graceful dip of her lower back, palming her ass, then lifted her, heedless of her ridiculously short hem when he wrapped her long legs around his waist.

“Where’s the light?” he rasped.

“Here.” She slapped the switch on beside the door, and he let her slide down gently against him to the floor. He guided her back toward the bed, drinking more kisses from her mouth, then leaned back and urged her to sit. Her legs wobbled as she sank down onto the mattress.

“These shoes look like killers.”

“They take getting used t- Oh. Oh, that feels like heaven.” Trowa removed her shoes and set them aside, then began to massage her feet, caressing and gently tugging on her toes. “Bless your soul…”

“You were on your feet all night.” 

“Mmmmmm.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I like them on you. But I like them off of you.” He massaged the balls of her feet, pressing his thumbs in firmly, then stroked her arch. 

Her moan was sinful.

His lips traced the path of his fingers, teasing her toes through her slick nylons, and she felt herself grow wet as his mouth traveled north, kissing a trail up her inner ankle to her shapely calf. The pantyhose magnified and sharpened the sensation of his caresses, and his breath felt hot, bathing her in short puffs. His fingers found the hem of her dress, already rucked up almost to her crotch, and he rolled it back.

“Trowa,” she moaned. “ _Oh, God…_ ”

And his name sounded like fucking magic coming out of her mouth, finally _his_ name, and arousal clawed at him as he began to bare the rest of her to his hungry eyes. Trowa felt her clutching at his hair, tugging on it as he mouthed at her thigh. His fingertips drew patterns over her skin as he breathed over her, barely grazing the center seam of her stockings. She shivered at the fleeting, feather-light touch of his lips.

“Your skin’s still cold,” he told her, but she couldn’t manage a response, only able to focus on the work of his skilled fingers as he found the waistband of her stockings and began to tug on them and roll them down. She cooperated and lifted her hips for him, and even just the way he looked at her made her stomach flip. Her skin welcomed the cool air as he peeled off her stockings, coiling them around his hand in a neat ball and dropping them into the cavity of her discarded shoe.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered as he leaned forward, inclining his mouth toward her satin-covered mound, and her thighs splayed more widely to welcome him home. 

“Oh. _Oh._ Please.” She had been leaning back onto her elbows, but the sensation of his tongue scorching her through the thin, slick panties made her collapse onto her back. Trowa traced the edges of her panties with his thumbs, sending little shudders through her body as he lapped and teased at her. Relena arched and exhaled a choked breath, music to his ears. She was so responsive to him, and he craved her, wanting nothing more than to make her shatter.

He needed to hear her say his name again, in that desperate, breathy tone. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of the panties and tugged them off, and her sex was already glistening, her sandy curls damp with arousal and from his kiss. He needed to taste her. She didn’t disappoint, and this time Trowa was the one who couldn’t control the sound of satisfaction he made as he lapped up her essence and heat. Relena clutched his hair with one hand, twisting her other in the sheet above her head. He toyed with her, teasing her hooded pearl with darting licks, spreading her with his thumbs.

She was perfection.

She was exquisite.

All Trowa wanted was to show her his passion and to wipe away his earlier failings, to erase the disastrous date and leave her satisfied. That meant driving her out of her mind first, savoring her and taking his time. She keened for him when he dipped his tongue inside, in deep, greedy strokes. He knew she was close, voice rising in pitch, almost frantic.

“S’good, so good,” she breathed, and he had grown so hard listening to her, anticipating the feel of her wrapped around him, engulfing his stiff, needy flesh. She felt the first frissons of her orgasm rolling down into her lower spine, then rode out the shocks of pleasure as they rocked her womb. She cried out, heedless of her neighbors, heedless of anything but Trowa’s talented mouth and the faint creaks of the mattress as she came.

She lay there, boneless, and felt him kiss her belly. He joined her on the bed, helping her to sit up long enough to remove the offending dress – Trowa _had_ to see her – and chuck it onto the floor. Relena didn’t protest his treatment of it; she doubted she would wear it again. He popped open the front clasp of her bra with a deft flick of his fingers, and her supple, creamy breasts filled his hands. When he bowed his head to tease one tourmaline nipple, her fingers clutched at his shirt, and she dragged the hem of it up, up, until he reluctantly released her long enough to whip it the rest of the way off. 

“Look at you.” He was a work of art, all graceful, lean muscle, Trowa’s broad shoulders emphasizing his taut, narrow waist. His skin was tanned and firm, and she felt his cock twitch when she touched it.The pile of clothes on the floor grew until there were no more barriers between them, and Relena drew him down into her embrace, her need for him only stronger after the first time that he made her come. Another fumbling search through her side table drawer yielded a foil-wrapped condom. Relena ripped it open with her teeth, and Trowa made a choked sound as she rolled it down his length. He knelt between her legs and teased her, rubbing the head of his cock over her flesh. She strained against him. “Please…”

He lifted her legs gracefully, hooking her knees over his shoulders, and he entered her in one quick thrust.

“God. You. Feel. So. Good.” She was hot and pliant, and his breath shuddered out of his chest as he drove himself inside. He withdrew and then snapped his hips forward, and Relena gasped his name again. And again.

Sometime it was high-pitched. Sometimes it was a sultry husk. Her voice was growing hoarse and ragged and she was clenching up around him, squeezing him, so beautiful with her head thrown back, her long hair spilling over the pillows. She gripped his forearms, holding on for the ride. His breaths were harsh pants and his body gleamed with sweat in the soft light. She felt him throbbing inside her, hitting that perfect spot and making pleasure curl in her stomach. He reached down to touch her, teasing the tiny nub, and she squirmed beneath his touch, feeling herself pushed closer to the edge. He thrust. She squeezed him, pulling him closer to fulfillment. He thrust harder, faster, and her grip on his arms would surely leave marks, but she met him as he thrust, and the climax returned to Relena with no less intensity than the first. Her mouth dropped open in a soundless cry, and she could only stare up at him as he rode her through it, and she felt him lose his rhythm as he reached completion. His thrusts stuttered, making his face strain and clench.

“Relena,” he gritted out roughly. “Oh, _God_.” His hips spasmed in short, hard jerks and she felt his pulsing heat as he came. He sagged forward, breathing like a lathered horse. She let her legs drop limply from his shoulders, and she gathered him close. They lay there, listening to each other’s breathing slow and even out, growing accustomed to the other’s pounding heartbeat. 

“So, you’re staying, right?” she blurted out.

“Are you kidding? I can’t move. I’m not going anywhere.” She huffed a laugh. His hair was drenched in sweat, and she stroked it back from his forehead. Trowa lifted her arm, limp as the rest of her body, and wrapped it around himself. Their bodies twined together, slowly cooling down with the top of his head tucked under her chin.

“Good.” His lips traced her collarbones, and he was drawing more patterns on her skin. “I was worried I was going to bore you,” she admitted.

He made a noise of disbelief. “How?”

“Just me being me, I guess. I’m not the most exciting person. I’m pretty vanilla.”

His arms tightened around her.

“Wouldn’t have guessed it by that outfit. And for the record, you’re _not_ boring.”

“Flatterer.” She heard the crack of his smile.

“You’re not. I had a good time tonight.”

“I have the feeling I had a better time with you than I would have had with Duo.”

“He can be fun,” Trowa allowed, since he would know.

“What does he even look like?”

“Eh. I have a few photos.”

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense. Quatre made me walk into my blind date totally _blind._ ”

“You’re going to make me get up? Now that I got comfortable?”

“I can’t sleep tonight until I know.” Trowa groaned, reluctantly disengaging her, but not without a kiss first.

“You’re mean.” Relena re-settled herself in the pillows, propping herself up a bit while he dug in his pants pocket for his phone. He slid into bed and eased himself down along her side, flicking on the screen and opening his gallery.

“There he is. I forgot I had half of these.”

She took it from him and scrolled through them with her thumb. Trowa settled himself under the covers and his legs tangled with hers; she wrapped her free arm around him again, soaking in his body heat.

Duo had a broad, careless smile and eyes that took up his face, so deep a blue they were violet. His hair… Quatre hadn’t been lying, he had long bangs that perpetually hung over his eyes, but that braid was impressive. He was well-built and handsome, and, she decided, kinda goofy. 

“He’s around your height,” Trowa supplied.

“Is this his?” Trowa fingered his crucifix. He nodded. “He likes jewelry?”

“I was just keeping this safe for him. Yeah, he does.”

“Don’t sleep with it on.” He obeyed, carefully undoing the clasp and laying it on the side table with his phone.

“Satisfied?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

“What do you think of him?”

Her lips twisted into a sly smile. 

“That he’s not _you_.” She reached up and stroked his jaw, teasing his lower lip with her fingertip. “He’s definitely not my type.”

Quatre was getting an earful when she saw him next.

FIN.


End file.
